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THE GRISLEY SUITOR 



MODERN AUTHORS' SERIES 


THE GRISLEY SUITOR 

A Story 



FRANK \jyKDEKIND / 

Author of “ The Awakening: of Spring:,” “ Such is 
Life,” etc. 

v Translated from the German 

/ BY 

Francis J. Ziegler^ 



) * » 

PHILADELPHIA 

BROWN BROTHERS 
1911 



Copyright , 1911 


BY 

BROWN BROTHERS 


©CI.A2S6807 ^ 


THE GRISLEY SUITOR 

BY 


FRANK WEDEKIND 





THE GRISLEY SUITOR 


Leonie Fischer had a fine disposition. Her 
features would be called sweet rather than 
beautiful. Her charm lay in the expression 
of her ey'es and in the somewhat uplifted 
corners of her mouth. Seeing her, a connois- 
seur of human nature would be forced to 
admit that these charms were not transitory, 
but that she would be as attractive as an old 
woman with white hair as she was as a 
young girl. The shape of her head, with its 
crown of tightly coiled, glistening black hair, 
was ’exquisite. Her bust was small and her 
hips might have been larger, but she wore 
number three shoes, and her hands would 
have been pretty had she not been forced to 
do housework, cooking, scrubbing and wash- 
ing, ever since she had left school. 

7 


8 


THE GRISLEY SUITOR. 


Leonie Fischer had one of those dispo- 
sitions which is at ease in all walks of life, 
among all sorts and conditions of people: 
which never gives offence, thanks to an in- 
nate spiritual tact and an unselfish mind; 
one of those dispositions which sympathizes 
with everybody and can be happy only when 
its associates are happy also. 

Leonie Fischer had had no mother since 
her fifth year and had never traveled outside 
the little town of Lenzburg. Her father 
spent his days in his grocery shop and passed 
his evenings, in company with a few surly 
greybeards, at a dimly lighted table in one 
of numerous taverns, never coming home 
before eleven o’clock. Since the death of her 
elder sister the maiden had passed nearly 
every evening at home, alone with her cro- 
cheting and a book from the public library, 
and never felt bored. She might have mar- 
ried well at seventeen. Her father had 
hammered the table with his fist and called 
her a fool because she refused the match. 
But she only laughed at him quietly; she 
was waiting for the right man to present 
himself, she was not going to make any ex- 
periments. When the right man did come 
she did not hesitate long, but grabbed hold 


THE GRISLEY SUITOR. 


9 


of him with both hands. He was of middle 
height, thirty-five years old, had an elastic 
step, a profitable business, and, what to his 
bride seemed almost the most important, he 
understood how to be in earnest at the right 
moment, so that she could talk to him quietly 
about things which had nothing to do with 
his business nor her father's grocery shop. 

The young pair spent their honeymoon on 
Lake Garda. During the afternoon they 
sat near each other in the sunshine on the 
veranda, ashamed a little of their languor, 
and thankful with all their hearts for the 
beauty of the moment. The corners of 
Leonie’s mouth shaped themselves to a smile 
every time her eyes met those of her hus- 
band. Then he would cast an ardent glance 
in her direction, upon which she would blush 
up to the roots of her hair, and he would look 
at her beseechingly as if to beg her pardon. 
It always ended by her slipping her hand 
into his and by her allowing him to cajole 
her with glowing sentiments. Each day 
passed thus until sunset. Leonie enjoyed 
her new happiness without affectation, with 
absolute acquiescence, but also without much 
thought, somewhat impersonally. For the 
moment she loved only love; it was only 


IO 


THE GRISLEY SUITOR. 


at times that she rejoiced quietly in the 
thought that she had found such a worthy 
companion for life. Thus she had dreamed 
it would be as she sat alone during all those 
years at home. When she had said yes in 
the presence of witnesses at the altar she 
had made a silent promise to herself that 
she would hold herself alone accountable 
for her future happiness or unhappiness. 
Then she had prayed to heaven to spare her 
and her’s from the worst of the unfors'een 
dangers of the future. 

Everything had grown quiet in the big 
hotel. The room door was bolted fast, the 
heavy green curtains were drawn, the night- 
lamp burned on the table ; midnight was long 
since passed, and the pair could not find 
slumber. That was, perhaps, because they 
took so little exercise during the day, and 
because they had taken an extra cup of coffee 
after supper. 

“How comes it,” said the young man in a 
whisper, “that you, with your twenty years 
and the passion you have in your body, are 
always so quiet? When one sees you out in 
life, the way you speak and the way you 
act, one might think that you had been on 
earth before. Other girls of your age grow 


THE GRISLEY SUITOR. 


ii 


excited easily, but you only become stiller 
and more composed whenever you meet 
anything unpleasant in your path.” 

“Perhaps that is on account of what I went 
through with when I was a child,” said the 
young wife. A ray of light glistened in her 
eyes. All else was night. 

“What did you go through?” 

“When my sister died. Did I never tell 
you?” 

“No. At least, I cannot recollect.” 

“You have seen her photograph. She was 
nearly a head taller than I am now and 
much larger in her whole body. She had 
arms which I could hardly span with my two 
hands. But she was neither fat nor un- 
wieldy. She was more supple than I am, 
and when she walked it seemed as if the 
floor caressed her every step. Perhaps 
that was because she had such full, broad 
hips. The most beautiful thing about her 
was her neck. Whenever I recall her now, 
I see first her beautiful round neck and the 
plump shoulders below it. But she was too 
big for a maiden, as big as some women 
after they have had two or more children. 
Nobody would have thought that she had 
to die. Only she herself, she was a prey to 


12 


THE GRISLEY SUITOR. 


the most frightful thoughts, as far back as 
I can remember. One could see them 
written in her eyes. When one looked into 
them one believed she was going to cry the 
next moment. She would tell a long story 
about a misfortune that had happened or 
was about to happen ; and when one 
thought it over quietly afterward, it was 
nothing or could be nothing. She was al- 
ways uneasy and bashful. From pure terror 
of misfortune and death she could never 
summon up courage to be on earth, until 
the end, when she was quite different. But 
there was one thing which never left her in 
peace. She had hardly put on long dresses 
and been confirmed when she began to think 
how and when she was to marry. And she 
had a premonition, I don’t know from what, 
that it would never happen — that she would 
never live through it, that she would die 
first. That was the basis of everything 
which she experienced afterward. 

“I remember,” continued Leonie, “I was 
possibly ten years old, that we slept together 
in one bed. Near the bed was a cradle in 
which slept my doll, and in another bed 
slept Lizzie, our old servant. Lizzie snored 
so loud that she often woke us up in the 


THE GRTSLEY SUITOR. 


i3 


middle of the night. Then we used to talk 
quietly in the dark, just as you and I are 
talking now, except that we did not have 
a four-posted bedstead. And once, Clara 
asked me if I married, what kind of a man 
it would have to be. I had never thought of 
that. I said I didn’t know. Then she told 
me that, for her part, she wanted one who 
had broad shoulders and was tall. He must 
have a somewhat short nose, a little blonde 
mustache and beautiful white teeth. He 
must wear his hair cut short and must not 
have big ears, but his legs must be well- 
turned and he must wear high boots, with 
big spurs. She talked half the night to me 
about him. We went over the list of our 
friends, but none of them was fine enough 
for her. And in the end she said, putting her 
head down on my breast and sighing: T be- 
lieve that I shall have to marry an old man 
of fifty or sixty years, who has lost all his 
teeth and who grins and coughs at every 
word he says. O Leonie, Leonie, if you only 
knew how I fear that, how it makes me 
shudder!’ I felt that she had all the blood 
in her head and that her fine arms were hot 
as fire. She had been out of school only a 
year. 


14 


THE GRISLEY SUITOR. 


“And then another night, when Lizzie 
snored so frightfully that it shook the stove, 
she told me everything about life, why peo- 
ple marry, and why we girls dress differently 
from you men. I found that all very natural, 
but she made a great secret out of it. She 
could scarcely talk, and I could hear her 
heart beating under the covers. I hadn't 
known anything of that before, but I didn't 
find anything unnatural in it. 

“When she came back from boarding 
school, three years later — she was a really 
fine, beautiful girl then, save for her corpu- 
lence — an old man, the tottering old actuary, 
who lived across the street from us, made 
her an offer of marriage, heaven knows 
why. She couldn’t get over the fright for 
four long weeks. She didn't go out, she 
didn't speak, she couldn't lift her eyes, she 
wouldn't look anybody in the face. It was 
almost as if she were losing her reason. 
Otherwise, the actuary was a very estimable 
man; I confess I wouldn’t have wanted him 
to be in love with me. He told father that 
he wanted to marry Clara because she never 
shut her lips tight together; she must be very 
affectionate. He was right in that. At 
first she was quite friendly toward him. But 


THE GRISLEY SUITOR. 


15 


when she found out what he wanted of her 
she cried herself into convulsions. We had 
to keep ice bags to her head all day long. 

“The next summer Rudolph Eisner came 
to Lenzburg. That was really as if Heaven 
had brought together two people who were 
born especially for each other, and who 
otherwise would have had to seek half the 
world over for a fitting mate. She met him 
first in the suburbs, when she was going 
bathing, and she flamed up at once like a 
northern light. She told me, when we were 
alone together that evening, that she had 
felt the blood surging all through her body. 
When she came home to supper she only 
complained about the water in the brook; 
it had become so warm and low. It was 
fifty-two degrees. 

“It was frightfully hard for her not to be- 
tray herself, but it was just as bad with him. 
He came at noon the next day and bought 
cigars. Clara and I stood upstairs at the 
window. He was a perfect Hercules; his 
chest was so broad and arched one might 
have driven over it with a wagon full of 
stones; his knees trembled; we heard his 
step echoing back from the rathaus. He had 
no mustache as yet; he was only twenty- 


i6 THE GRISLEY SUITOR. 

three years old; one could see his broad, full 
mouth all the better; lips not too large, but 
expressive. As he went through the inner 
door he was forced to stoop; from behind 
it seemed as if one could see his arms 
through the sleeves of his coat. He wore 
his hat on the back of his head; that was 
the only careless thing about him; under it 
one saw the white nape of his neck. His head 
was commanding, but elegant and pliant ; he 
did not carry it down toward the earth, like 
a steer, but high and proud, like a king. He 
had finished his military service, I believe, 
in the officers' school; he was with the artil- 
lery, and was acting as a clerk for a hard- 
ware merchant near the lower tow’er. I 
trembled with alarmed rapture when I saw 
Clara alongside of me so unnerved and 
breathing so heavily. I was only a child, 
but I can say truly that I was as much de- 
lighted as she was when they became 
secretly engaged a fortnight later. They 
met at the post office: he was writing a post 
card, she wanted to write one, too ; he handed 
her the pen, and then they became engaged. 
They hardly spoke a word. He bit his lips 
and looked into her soul. She was the same 
toward him; even more passionate, if pos- 


THE GRISLEY SUITOR. 


1 7 


sible, and then everything was clear and 
finished, as firm as heaven over the earth. 
She came home, knelt down by the sofa, 
cried and sobbed for joy and beat her feet 
on the floor. 

“They could not be engaged openly at 
first. They could not be as long as he was 
a clerk, but he had expectations of becoming 
a partner in the hardware store. His father 
was a very rich miller, and Clara herself had 
a dot; but they had to wait a year at least. 
And then, every evening, when the hard- 
ware store was closed, Clara and I went out 
into the wood together to the Roman ruins. 
She had to take me with her, because, other- 
wise, the other girls would follow her to 
see where she was going. And then they 
would kiss each other for an hour at a time 
until suppertime. I always sat near them. 
Clara had asked me not to leave her out of 
my sight alone with him for a moment, 
and I believe he was thankful to her for 
that; they wanted to preserve their life's 
happiness untarnished. But it wasn't a little 
thing for me to watch them, evening after 
evening, and see how they grew red in the 
face and trembled and did not speak a word 
for an hour, looking as grim and stern as 


18 THE GRISLEY SUITOR. 

thunder clouds. Whenever Rudolph turned 
his head he gave me a friendly glance. I took 
my German reader with me, but often the let- 
ters ran together in my sight. When I looked 
at Clara then she wiped the tears away. Of- 
ten when we were going home I felt the 
deepest pity for her, but I was so pious that 
I didn’t dare say anything. So it went on for 
a whole year, in sunshine, in rain and in 
snow. In winter I once tore my frock as I 
rose from the bank, I was frozen fast; while 
near me the frost thawed on the branches 
over Rudolph and Clara. 

“When the next summer came to an end, 
some time about September, Rudolph jour- 
neyed home one day and arranged every- 
thing with his father. In six months his 
father was to advance him the money so 
that he could become a partner in the hard- 
ware store. That would be in February, 
then he could marry Clara and make a jour- 
ney to Italy with her. Announcements 
were issued at once, all Lenzburg congratu- 
lated, and Clara enjoyed a little diversion. 
It was all so comical to her that she was 
often as bright as other girls are when they 
are preparing for their weddings. But now 
he visited our house every evening. Father 


THE GRISLEY SUITOR. 


19 


sat in the tavern and I did my school work. 
They took the utmost care to control them- 
selves; they had given over their kissing; 
it was no longer as it was in the beginning, 
they were wiser and the wedding came 
nearer every day. They only devoured each 
other with their eyes! I saw them sitting 
silent opposite each other, she on the sofa, 
he on a tabouret without a back, uneasy, 
restless, as if on coals. Many times I looked 
up from my place at the table, because at 
first I could not believe that the weather 
had grown so peaceful, but there was noth- 
ing happening. In order to help them pass 
the time, I used to talk about what I was 
reading, until I noticed that nobody was 
listening. Then I kept silent and wrote 
on my exercises. It was as still as death. 
One heard only the lamp, my pen and their 
breathing. 

“ On the first of December Clara had 

a frightful stroke. It was right after dinner. 
She lost consciousness, her face and her 
hands became as blue as if she had spilled ink 
on them ; one could not notice her breathing, 
and her heart beat so hard that one could see 
it through her dress, it was so strong. All 
the morning she had been worrying lest war 


20 


THE GRISLEY SUITOR. 


should break out during her honeymoon, 
so that Rudolph would have to serve with 
the artillery. I unbuttoned her waist and 
undid her corsets, but that did no good. 
By the time the doctor arrived we had put 
her to bed. He said that she had had a 
serious attack of heart failure. He gave 
her something that brought her to herself. 
Her first words as she opened her eyes were: 
‘O Leonie, L'eonie, I must die !’ 

“The doctor came again that evening; 
Rudolph and I were standing beside her 
bed; he knew that Clara and Rudolph were 
engaged. As he left, he told me under no 
circumstances to allow Rudolph to visit her 
again, it disturbed her too much, he had 
seen it; the whole trouble was due to her 
state of frightful excitement; if I allowed 
him to come to her bedside again it might 
mean her death. He told father the same 
thing down in the shop. I was to communi- 
cate it to Rudolph. Naturally, I didn’t go 
to school next day. 

“Old Lizzie had left us since Clara had 
come home from boarding school and was 
able to help in the store. Since then I had 
had the bed in which Lizzie had slept after 
mother’s death. The first night I had to 


THE GRISLEY SUITOR. 


21 


get up every hour and put fresh ice bags to 
Clara's heart. The next day, as she was no 
better, we engaged a nurse, who stayed dur- 
ing the day and helped in the store, in order 
that I might not have to give up school. 
Rudolph seemed turned to stone when I told 
him that he could not see her; he didn’t 
answer a syllable; it seemed to me as if he 
didn’t understand me. Early in the morn- 
ing, at noon and at night, he came to the 
store and asked how it went with her. It 
did not go well. All night long Clara had 
difficulty in breathing and did not sleep a 
minute. It was only just before noon that 
she managed to sleep for an hour or so. She 
had no pain, but as soon as she left the bed 
she grew dizzy. She did not look different 
from usual, if anything better, her great 
limpid eyes glistened so brightly, and her 
features had something so intense; she was 
really beautiful. Naturally, she spoke of 
him all the time, she begged me with tears 
to bring him to her. I told her it could not 
be, she would soon be better, and then they 
could marry at once. But she looked up to 
the ceiling as if she knew very well that 
could never be. Then we could hear 
Rudolph’s step in the street outside. Every 


22 


THE GRISLEY SUITOR. 


night until eleven, twelve o’clock he walked 
about the house. I felt as if something were 
choking me. I wanted to throw myself 
down on the bed with my sister and lament 
with her. But, I said to myself, you must 
not notice anything, so that she will not lose 
all her courage, and I fought it off. 

“The next night I dreamed I had an inter- 
view with Rudolph. I saw him kneeling be- 
fore me, lifting his hands to me and holding 
a knife with which he wanted to kill himself. 
I only said: 'No, no, no, no, no!’ and rejoiced 
that I was able to pain him so. Once it was 
all blood. Then I woke up and heard Clara 
talking to herself. 'Merciful God, have 
mercy on me/ she stammered. 'Have mercy 
on me! What have I done to deserve this? 
O Rudolph, Rudolph !’ 

"I got up and gave her a powder. Then, 
in order to quiet her, I stood in my night- 
gown and allowed her to tell me everything 
he had told her about his military service 
and the officers’ school. 

“The next morning we had arithmetic. I 
had done my problems, but when I went to 
the blackboard I didn’t know how much 
twice forty was. The other girls asked me 
at recess what was the matter with me. I 


THE GRISLEY SUITOR. 


23 

saw them running about the schoolhouse 
skipping rope as if they were ghosts, and 
thought all the time about Clara and Ru- 
dolph. I went home with my friend, Marie 
Hernmann. She had enough tact not to ask 
me why I didn’t speak a word, and when we 
met Rudolph in front of the house she left 
us alone at once. 

“He was like an oak trembling beneath the 
axe of the woodman, he shook so as he 
stood before me. He struck his breast and 
said that he felt how she must suffer, and 
that if anything could kill her it was the 
order the doctor had given; he would like to 
slay that man for his murderous knowledge. 
I told him he ought to tell that to the doctor 
himself; I understood, but I could not help 
him. Then he took my hand in his and 
pressed it so hard that it hurt, while with 
the other he stroked my hair. ‘No/ he said, 
‘you cannot understand me, you are only a 
schoolgirl, but you can help me. Your 
father goes to the tavern every evening; you 
are alone with Clara then, and then ’ 

“ 'Oh, I cannot!’ I said, T cannot!’ and 
pulled myself away from him and ran into 
the house. I could not go to Clara, f sat in 


24 


THE GRISLEY SUITOR. 


the kitchen and cried, and cried, until the 
soup was on the table. 

“Toward evening the doctor came and 
showed very plainly that she was worse, 
although we could not notice anything. 
But he felt Clara’s pulse and sounded her 
heart for half an hour. ‘No excitement! 
For God’s sake, no excitement!’ he said. 
After supper I was with her alone again 
and she said to me, in the same words, what 
Rudolph had said to me. It was just as if 
they had talked together. She scolded me 
for being unfeeling; I was not her sister. 
Then she wept so that the pillow was wet 
through and through. I must bring him to 
her; he was down below; she didn’t mind 
dying, she knew she was doomed; but I 
must let her be alone with him. She raised 
herself on her elbow, and the pain made her 
tremble all over. I thought it would never 
stop. Then when she heard his step in the 
street she became quieter. In the middle 
of the night I was awakened suddenly by a 
cry of pain such as I shall never forget in 
my life. I sprang up and gave her a drink 
of water. She drank a whole pitcherful. She 
said she had been dreaming. It was fright- 
ful. 


THE GRISLEY SUITOR. 


25 


“As soon as she shut her eyes, she told 
me, she saw an old man. The first time she 
saw him was while she was unconscious dur- 
ing her stroke, tie was bald down to his 
ears, and the ears themselves were large and 
stuck out from his head like leaves. He had 
a close-cropped grey beard and a little, in- 
significant nose. His chest was that of a 
child, and his knees seemed to stick out 
through his thin pantaloons. He always ap- 
peared in a frock coat and a tall hat and 
felt his way with a cane. His face had some- 
thing so horrible about it that it froze the 
blood. He introduced himself to her at once 
as her bridegroom; they were to be married 
in a fortnight. Each time he kissed her 
she tried to keep him off with her knees and 
her elbows, but he held her head so fast be- 
tween his two hands that she had to suffer 
his kisses. And the night before he had 
wanted to take her away with him. Ru- 
dolph had protected her, but the old man 
had hit him over the eye with his cane. 
Then the old man had leaned over her. She 
knew that she was in bed well enough. She 
saw his bleary, red-rimmed eyes coming 
nearer and nearer to her, and his yellow 
face with the brown liver spots, and then. 


26 


THE GRISLEY SUITOR. 


just as she felt his thin hand under her neck, 
she was able to cry out. ‘O Rudolph!’ she 
cried, with clasped hands, T shall never see 
you again, I shall never see you again!’ 

“When I came downstairs, Rudolph was 
standing in the shop with father. His head 
was bowed, but he seemed more manly, more 
youthful, more spiritual than I had ever seen 
him. He tried to follow me, but I hastened 
off to school while I was able. 

“During the first two hours my brain was 
in a whirl. I kept seeing that old monster 
bending over my sister at home. Then came 
the German lesson, and the thought obtruded 
itself more and more. The teacher himself 
was an old man, but a good-hearted one. The 
whole fifteen of us used to bring him sim- 
ilar exercises, and he found something differ- 
ent to praise in all of them. The only things 
he could not bear were for our frocks to be 
too short, or for us to wear bright-colored 
ribbons in our hair. Then he called us per- 
fect idiots. Once, when he complained 
about her dress, Marie Hemmann told him 
she was not to blame that her legs were so 
long. He hurried back of his desk, threw up 
the lid, and kept out of sight for a whole 
quarter of an hour. 


THE GRISLEY SUITOR. 


27 


“ Tt is death/ I said to myself, ‘it is death 
who wants to take her/ And then I con- 
cluded to go to the doctor right after school, 
and ask him if Clara would get better or not. 
Something seemed to be gnawing within 
me; I haven’t had the feeling since, but I 
felt as if the pain might make me ill at any 
moment. * I felt just as if I were in Clara’s 
place myself. I felt her passionate longing 
for Rudolph and her fear of the old man. 
‘You are a cruel devil without heart or feel- 
in,’ I said to myself; ‘Clara is so frightfully 
upset because she cannot see him, it could 
not be worse if he came to see her, and per- 
haps it might calm her. And suppose she 
has to die, suppose she really has to die with- 
out taking leave of him!’ And then I told 
myself that the old man had no right to 
her, that only Rudolph had the right to 
kiss her. ‘The old man,’ I said to myself, ‘is 
death and Rudolph is life. When Rudolph 
is with her the old man will not disturb her. 
And if the old man is really to get her it 
doesn’t really matter whether she rejoices 
herself with a sight of Rudolph before then 
or not/ 

“At twelve o’clock, when school was out, I 
ran to the doctor; I left my things in school; 


28 


THE GRISLEY SUITOR. 


I must have looked crazy. He drew me to 
him, and told me that he had known for a 
long time that she could not be saved, that 
his help was useless, and that I must not 
cry, that she would be up there with God. 
Then the tears gushed from my eyes. I 
said I only wanted to ask him. Then he said 
that she would get better, but with such 
lack of confidence that I knew the worst. 

“I feared the horror might have happened 
before she could see Rudolph and I ran 
home, only to find Clara looking as she al- 
ways looked, beautiful as a full-blown rose, 
only she spoke very fast. ‘Let him come to 
me, Leonie, let him come to me/ she gasped; 
and I said, ‘Yes, this evening/ Then she 
threw her big arms about my neck and 
kissed me and pressed me to her breast as 
if I were Rudolph himself. I thought of the 
doctor then, of what he had said, and of the 
old monster. Before she let me out of her 
arms she whispered in my ear: ‘But you 
must leave me alone with him/ I said ‘yes/ 
and then the nurse came in with some soup 
and told me to go and eat in the dining room. 

“But while we were at the table a thought 
stabbed me like a dagger. The day before 
she had already told me that I must leave 


THE GRISLEY SUITOR. 


29 


them alone together. Although I was still 
going to school, I knew enough about the 
world to understand what she wanted. I 
grew hot and cold. ‘No/ I said to myself, 
‘you dare not do it. Up to now Clara has 
been a decent girl, and if she does that she 
won't be so any longer.' And then I thought 
of the old man who wanted to violate her. 
And then I thought that she might have to 
die, to die without being loved as other 
women, when they are married, are loved 
all their lives. And then I thought that God 
must be frightfully cruel. If ever a girl was 
created for love, it was my sister; I knew 
that so well. 

“That afternoon we had instruction for 
confirmation. Before it I walked up and 
down the corridor with Marie Hemmann. 
The boys, who took lessons with us, stood 
about and stared at our feet. Marie wore 
high yellow laced boots and I had on a pair 
of brand new low shoes. She asked after my 
sister, and I was tempted to tell her every- 
thing that lay on my soul. But, after the 
first word, I noticed that she did not grasp 
what it was all about, and so I preferred to 
keep silent. During our lesson the pastor, 
with whom all the girls were in love, ex- 


30 


THE GRISLEY SUITOR. 


plained to us about the Sadduccees coming 
to Christ and asking him if a man had seven 
wives, which one would be his in heaven; 
and how he answered that there was no dif- 
ference between men and women in heaven. 
A weight seemed to fall from my heart. If 
there was no difference between men and 
women in heaven, then it couldn't make any 
difference whether Clara was with him once 
or not. My resolution was taken. And 
then, while the parson went on speaking, I 
said silently to God: Tf you don't want me 
to let Rudolph come up to her, then let her 
be better this evening. You can do that if 
you will. I will not go home until evening, 
and then if she is only just a little better I 
will not allow Rudolph to come up. But 
if she is not better then I will do it. You, 
dear God,' I said, 'can hinder it, if you don't 
want it to happen. You can make a tile fall 
on my head, or have me arrested for murder. 
I will stake my life on the matter, young as 
I am. But, if none of these things happen, 
✓ then the thing is as you want it, because you 
can do all that you wish.' 

"The whole afternoon I spent outside the 
town among the snow-covered fields. I 
went into the woods, too, and when I came 


THE GRISLEY SUITOR. 


3i 


to the Roman ruins I was really afraid that 
at any minute someone might spring out of 
the bushes and make an end to me. When 
it struck six o'clock I turned homeward. 
Clara lay in bed and complained of palpita- 
tion of the heart. She told me she had seen 
the old man again. There had been a fright- 
ful struggle. As he left, he told her that 
was to be her wedding night, and she had 
answered: ‘Yes, with Rudolph, with Ru- 
dolph; but not with you!' 

“At seven o'clock father went to the 
tavern and at eight the nurse went home. 
Then I slunk downstairs, quietly opened the 
front door, and let him in. As I came up- 
stairs after him I did not notice anything 
unusual in his appearance. But when I 
opened the room door for him and let him 
in, I saw the strength of his legs vanishing 
with every step he took toward the bed, so 
that when he reached it he fell trembling 
against it. I shut the door quietly and went 
down to the kitchen, where only a night light 
was burning. I fell on my knees by the 
hearth and prayed to God that he might 
not make Clara suffer for what she was do- 
ing; he should not visit it upon her as the 
doctor had predicted, but he might hold me 


32 


THE GRISLEY SUITOR. 


accountable, I would endure any pains pa- 
tiently if Clara might only live, and I would 
take all the blame for her fault. 

“I heard it strike nine o'clock. Right 
afterward it struck ten. The time passed 
with me as if it were a moment. At half- 
past ten I went up with the light. I was 
within a hair of going in, but I stopped be- 
fore the door. I knocked lightly and said 
that it was half-past ten. Then a quarter 
of an hour passed somewhat slowly. I held 
my breath; I was afraid of hearing some- 
thing in front of the house, but I heard only 
sighs and kisses from inside the room. 
Then I knocked again. Soon after Rudolph 
came out wrapped in his coat, with his hat 
pulled down over his brow. I lighted him 
out. Going downstairs he pressed my hand 
without saying anything. Then I let him 
out. 

“I was anxious as to how I should find 
Clara. It was as if she were enveloped in 
a mild evening sunshine, and she was more 
hopeful than I could recollect having seen 
her, as far back as I could remember. She 
spoke no word of dying. She spoke only of 
her wedding and of how they were going to 
journey to Italy together. The next day 


THE GRISLEY SUITOR. 


33 


she expected to get up again; then she began 
to talk of the early days when we played to- 
gether as children and of how often she had 
maltreated me. Then she laughed so that 
I had to cry for very joy on her bed. 

“For a long time she could not quiet her- 
self. At last she went to sleep. In the 
morning, when I got up, she lay so quietly 
that I thought I would not disturb her. She 
lay deep in the pillows and I went on tiptoe, 
kept away from the bed and shut the door 
quietly behind me. Downstairs I told them 
that she was asleep. But I had hardly 
reached school when the nurse came run- 
ning after me and brought me back. When 
I entered the room father and the doctor 
were standing beside her bed. She was 
dead.” 

It was quite still in the big hotel. The 
newly-made husband had followed his wife’s 
recollections with lively sympathy. He said 
to himself that a being who had so much 
understanding at fifteen, whose spiritual life 
was so much in accord with her surround- 
ings then, must be capable of still greater 
things as a grown woman. And he counted 
himself lucky to have by his side such a 
treasure of quiet consideration, of unselfish- 
ness and w r arm devotion. 







































MODERN AUTHORS* SERIES 


Under this title appear from time to time short stories and dramas, 
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each containing from 32 to 64 pages. Printed in large, clear type 
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each volume, 25c. net. By mail, 29c. Five Volumes nowReady: 

ii Q-| 99 By LEONIDAS ANDREIYEFF 

Olience Translated from the Russian. Second Edition 

An unusual short story, that reads like a poem in prose, by the 
leading exponent of the new Russian school of novelists 

H 9k M .I 1 99 By AUGUST STRINDBERG 

IVlOinGiriOVG Translated from the Swedish 

An example of Strindberg’s power as analyst of human nature. A 
one-act play in which the dramatist lays bare the 
weakness of a human soul 

“A Red Flower” 

By VSEVOLOD GARSHIN 

A powerful short story by one of Russia’s popular authors, 
unknown as yet to the English-speaking public 

“The Grisley Suitor” 

By FRANK WEDEKIND 
Author of "THE AWAKENING OF SPRING.” etc. 

Translated from the German 
An excellent story of the De-Maupassant type 
BY THE SAME AUTHOR 

“Rabbi Ezra.” “The Victim” 

Two Sketches Characteristic of the Pen of this Noted German Author 

OTHER VOLUMES IN PREPARATION 


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A DILEMMA 

A STORY OF MENTAL PERPLEXITY 
By LEONIDAS ANDREIYEFF 
Translated from the Russian by John Cournos 

Cloth, 75 Cents net. Postage, 7 Cents 


A remarkable analysis of mental subtleties as experi- 
enced by a man who is uncertain as to whether or not 
he is insane. A story that is Poe-like in its intensity and 
full of grim humor. 

One of the most interesting literary studies of crime 
since Dostoieffsky’s “Crime and Punishment.” — Chicago 
Evening Post. 


A grim and powerful study by that marvelous Russian, 
Leonidas Andreiyeff . — The Smart Set. 

Leonidas Andreiyeff is a writer who bites deep into 
life. In him Slavic talent for introspection is remarkably 
developed. Poetic, powerfully imaginative, master of 
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NEW EDITION JUST OUT 


The Awakening of Spring 

A TRAGEDY OF CHILDHOOD 

BY 

FRANK WEDEKIND 

A drama dealing with the sex question in its relationship 
to the education of children 

Cloth, gilt top, deckle edge, $1.25 net. By mail, $1.35 

Here is a play which on its production caused a sensation 
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remarkable. These studies of adolescence are as impressive as 
they are unique . — The Athenaeum, London. 

The dialogue is extraordinarily fresh and actual, and the 
short, varying glimpses that place the characters and the situation 
before you are vivid as life itself. The book is not one to be 
read lightly nor lightly to be set aside. It has a message that 
may well be learned here as elsewhere, and it witnesses to a 
high purpose in its author and to a brave spirit . — New York 
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In “The Awakening of 'Spring” we have German realism at 
its boldest. Nearly all the characters of the play are children, 
and its action revolves about that groping for knowledge, par- 
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of childhood. 

Tt must be said of Wedekind that he is nowhere gross. His 
object in writing the play was to arouse German parents just 
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he has succeeded. He is one of the most accomplished of the 
younger Germans. His work shows profound thought . — The 
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SWANWHITE 

A FAIRY DRAMA 

By AUGUST STRINDBERG 

Translated by Francis J. Ziegler 

PRINTED ON DECKLE EDGE PAPER AND ATTRACTIVELY BOUND 

IN CLOTH 


$1.00 net, Postage 8 Cents 


A Poetic Idyl, which is charming in its sweet purity, delightful in it* 
optimism, elusive in its complete symbolism, but wholesome in its message 
that pure love can conquer evil. 

So out of the cold North, out of the mouth of the world’s most terrible 
misogynists, comes a strange message — one which is as sweet as it is unex- 
pected. And August Strindberg, the enemy of love, sings that pure love 
is all powerful and all-conquering. — SPRINGFIELD, MASS., 
REPUBLICAN. 


It is worth while to have all of the plays of such a great dramatist in 
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enterprise. There has long existed a need for just such an edition of con- 
temporary foreign plays. . . .” — THE SUN, Baltimore. 


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The Creditor 



A Psychological Study of the Divorce Question by the 
Swedish Master 

AUGUST STRINDBERG 

Author of “Froken Julie,” “Swanwhite,” 
“Father,” “Motherlove,” etc. 

Translated from the Swedish by Francis J. Ziegler 


Cloth, $1.00 net. Postage, 8 Cents 


Amid that remarkable group of one-act plays, which 
embodies August Strindberg’s maturest work as a play- 
wright, the tragic comedy “Fordringsagare” (The 
Creditor), occupies a prominent place. 

"Fordringsagare” was produced for the first time in 
1889, when it was given at Copenhagen as a substitute 
for “Froken Julie,” the performance of which was for- 
bidden by the censor. Four years later Berlin audiences 
made its acquaintance, since when it has remained the 
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The Woman and the Fiddler 

A PLAY IN THREE ACTS BY 

ARNE NORREVANG 
Translated from the Norwegian by 
MRS. HERMAN SANDBY 

Cloth, Uncut Edges, $1.00 net. By mall, $1.06 

This play is based upon one of the legends of the 
fiddlers who used to go about from valley to valley, play- 
ing for the peasants at their festivities. 

Enthralled by the power of the fiddler, we are drawn 
up the mountains. We breathe the rarified atmosphere 
of the highest peaks, and feel the strange, penetrating 
light of the midsummer night, the light which is neither 
of day nor night, but seems to come from another world 
“and force itself beyond our heavy eyelids!” It is the 
moment when the “great red sun of night stands still, 
while mortals dream!” 

We see the vision ; we seem to tread upon the clouds ; 
we are under the spell of the enchantment! The story 
is one of love and renunciation. The “great moment” 
has to be paid for! She who cannot live within her 
mother’s white dwelling has to die! “She has gone too 
long upon the mountains with the sight of the glisten- 
ing snow in her eyes.” She enters the land of mist! 

Since “Peer Gynt” we have hardly had any lyric 
drama from Norway so full of the poetry and mysticism 
of the mountains, as this work by the promising young 
author, Arne Norrevang. 


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